


Aca-awkward

by theamberissubtle



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012), bechloe - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamberissubtle/pseuds/theamberissubtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe gets caught sexting in class by a lecturer who also happens to be the unsuspecting father of her girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aca-awkward

It started off as a joke.

“What are you wearing?” Chloe had texted, smirking to even imagine the adorable deer-in-the-headlights expression probably adorning Beca’s face right now - a mixture of flustered, disbelieving, petrified excitement that would inevitably lead to hyperventilation of some kind. Or she would just throw her phone straight out the window.

The usual reaction, then, for Beca. 

Honestly, they could make out for hours, languidly exploring each other’s bodies until Chloe felt like there wasn’t an inch that Beca hadn’t memorised, yet her girlfriend of five months was so painfully awkward about talking about it, even to her, even through text, that Chloe couldn’t help but exploit instances like this just to tease her about it. It was all harmless of course for she knew Beca well enough to determine what she was and wasn’t comfortable with, and this was filling her with great delight, a stupid grin spreading across her face as she ignored her lecturer, eyes fixated on her lap where she stealthily held her phone away from view. 

She wasn’t sure what was better – getting no reply, or a stuttering mess of letters, or a what on earth, Beale? Since there were twenty minutes left of the lecture, she was hoping for a long rant that spread over five texts. Normally she would be paying avid attention to her studies, but it was the last week of the semester, right before Christmas, and she was on top of her work – top of her class actually – and the lecture she was currently sitting through was basically a recap of the topic so far. Basically it didn’t require her full attention, especially considering most of her peers had already left for home -

Oh, nothing. Literally. I was going to get a shower, and I’m putting on a dressing gown to walk over there in. Somehow Titanium is stuck in my head, so I hope the cubicles are all empty. 

Chloe nearly dropped her phone. It took a skilful moment to grasp the edge of it before it slid straight off her lap to clatter noisily onto the floor, and she considered herself lucky that she was sat alone on the second row that particular afternoon because her usual partners in crime were absent – and Beca had just replied to a sext with a sext. 

Like, pigs were flying. 

The lecturer glanced her way, noticing her sudden wild movement, but she smiled sheepishly and he looked away again, pointing at something on his PowerPoint. Thankfully the usual professor was away on research leave before the next semester, and professor – er – what’s his name – was filling in even though he belonged to the chemistry department. It was lucky, really, because she was a model student and her reputation was falling to pieces right now. She looked at the back of his head for a moment, deliberating her reply. Come to think of it, there was something a little familiar about this professor’s hair and eyes and - 

What? Thought that I wouldn’t reply? I can play your game, Beale, and I’m not the one stuck in a lecture.

Oh, God, she was in trouble. This had backfired in a big way, a stupid way, a big fucking colossal way. She honestly hadn’t expected Beca to reply, especially not in a flirty, uncharacteristic manner that already had her squirming in her seat because it was new and hot and what if Beca really was naked right at that moment? She could hardly ignore the possibility. 

Oh yeah? You have no idea what I’m capable of through text, Mitchell, she typed out, biting her lip, half-hoping that this would be the end of it because twenty minutes of being ridiculously aroused whilst being stuck in a lecture theatre was going to be unbearable. No such luck, however, because damn it Beca could be competitive when she wanted. 

Bring it. 

Chloe was the epitome of competitive; Beca knew this, and was exploiting it. Impressed and more than a little turned on already, she glanced around to make sure no one had noticed her preoccupation – they hadn’t because there was like five of them there – and that the professor was caught up in his own speech about something sciencey – he was – and ducked her head, quickly typing: 

Titanium, huh? That song really builds. I know this from personal experience, and so do you because the last time I went down on you it was playing in the background. I think it was a new record for how fast I made you come. What, less than five minutes? 

Go big or go home, she told herself smugly. Beca thought she had her by merely replying, but Chloe wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed by anything, and she could talk about their encounters in explicit detail, as Aubrey had unfortunately discovered. There was no time for cute lines about underwear or stripping or feelings: this was a game, and Chloe had to win. 

It took a couple of minutes for her phone to vibrate, but when it did she couldn’t help but smirk because Beca surely would be hyperventilating now, holed up in her room all flustered, waving the white flag. It was all so hot to imagine. 

Crossing her legs, she spared a second to glance distractedly at the board to make it look like she was paying attention, before hurriedly scanning the message, mouth dropping and cheeks heating as her mind went blank, unable to comprehend the words on the screen. 

Probably about four or less, but only because you’d been flirting with me all day and I was aching for you to touch me, which you know how to do so perfectly. Seriously, Beale, you have such a talented mouth, and it’s making me wet just to relive the whole experience. It’s a good thing I decided not to take a shower after all and lounge around my empty room. It’s such a shame that you’re not here to give me a hand.

It was followed by a winky face. Beca had used a winky face. Her girlfriend, who couldn’t even handle Fat Amy’s innuendos, was using words like aching and wet in a text. Who was she? 

Chloe was pretty sure that she was dying, or already dead, because her breathing was staccato and her stomach was turning and God help her it was playing in her head like a film but with all the senses to go with it and who knew her Beca even had this in her - 

“Miss Beale?”

Through the haze of her thoughts - the flashing images of their previous sexual encounters - she emerged from her stupor with an unpleasant visual: that of her professor standing right in her eye line, a frown on his face, a hand outstretched – for her phone no doubt.

Uncharacteristically she turned as red as her hair. She smiled sheepishly and held out her phone obediently, seeing no alternative (because she had been caught so red-headed, plus the lecture was over in five minutes anyway), until he continued to say, “Usually the punishment for texting in my lectures would be for me to read the texts aloud to the entire class” and her entire life seemed to flash before her eyes. 

She couldn’t even splutter an indignant no on behalf of her rights or whatever, before the phone was in his hands and he was holding it up like a weapon, addressing the remaining students in the lecture. “Luckily this is a far cry from the usual level of attendance, so I think your punishment is rather light, Miss Beale.”

However, two things happened at once: the bell rang, signalling the end of the lecture, and the students fled in record time, not even bothering to witness whatever humiliation was coming her way because this was the last lecture of the semester and, hello, Christmas vacation was here, and the professor with the strangely familiar brown eyes and dark brown hair glanced down at the screen of her phone where her messages were still brightly lit, his eyes widening almost comically.

Then Beca herself walked in.

Seriously.

Clearly she hadn’t noticed Chloe standing shiftily at the front of the room, because the first thing she did was make her way down the stairs from the top of the room and call out, “You better make this quick, dad, I have something better to do,” with her nose buried in her phone, clearly anticipating a return text. 

And that was when it all crumbled around her, the magnitude of it all hitting her. First of all, why wasn’t Beca naked in her room touching herself to thoughts of Chloe and Titanium? Rude. Second of all, Chloe had her girlfriend saved in her phone as ‘Beca Mitchell’ because she had an iPhone and she was OCD about the first name, last name listing and holy fucking mother of God, the lecturer with the same coloured eyes as her girlfriend was professor Mitchell, Beca’s father. 

Beca’s father! Her temp professor was her girlfriend’s unsuspecting father!

She had known that he taught at the university but it wasn’t her kind of science and she had never seen him before, had never made the connection, and Beca hadn’t talked about him much, certainly not to divulge the ins and outs of his job. Yet there were no justifications; there was no escaping this. He had clearly read the texts if the luminous red adorning his cheeks was anything to go by (she tried to ignore the fact that it was her favourite hobby making Beca’s cheeks turn that red). 

Startled, he looked up from Chloe’s phone, and in that moment she knew he had never intended to read it; he had happened to glance down, see the first line, and now it was bleached into his memory forevermore; it was the diary mentality (before you knew it you’d read the whole thing). 

The worst part is, Beca hadn’t been ready to tell him about their relationship, deigning it irrelevant to his role in her life.

“Beca?” he practically croaked, shocked at finding her there. 

“Chloe?” Beca, noticing her girlfriend, blushed a deep scarlet, clearly not expecting to find her there and definitely not prepared to meet face to face since their intimate exchange, which would usually make Chloe melt, but she was too busy stifling a heart attack. “I thought you had a lec-” She broke off as something connected in her mind. “Wait, you don’t study chemistry.”

“I’m covering because Professor Matthews is on research leave,” her dad said automatically, squinting a little as he surveyed her; it was like he’d never seen her before, and Chloe couldn’t help but think that he’d found a lot more out about his daughter than he’d ever intended, like she’d been the recipient of oral stimulation by the girl standing right in front of him. She shifted from one foot to the other, not sure, for once, how to handle this with her usual charisma. 

Suffice to say, she could get embarrassed after all. That was worth knowing, right? 

“Okay, whatever,” Beca said slowly, confused, looking at them both like she couldn’t believe they were in the same room, then there was a flicker of recognition, a moment of clarity and panic, when - “Is that Chloe’s phone?” 

The second she said it, her voice broke, summarising the situation: Chloe, her secret girlfriend where her father was concerned, had gotten caught texting in class, and she knew from her father’s horror stories that he joked about reading those texts aloud if anyone ever got caught in his lectures, but even though he only ever bluffed he had clearly seen -

“Fuck,” fell out of Beca’s mouth before she could stop it, her face bypassing pink and turning maroon, her bag slipping from her shoulders from the shock. 

Her dad fumbled with Chloe’s phone, handing it to her without glancing at the screen this time, and said with forced casualness: “Is there something you want to tell me, Beca?”

“That depends,” Beca replied, inspecting her fingernails. Then, realising she wasn’t getting out of there in a hurry, said, “Um, no.”

“I’m thinking he knows,” Chloe stage-whispered to her, helpfully she assumed, but Beca, if possible, turned even redder at realising that she was in fact there and it was all real and not a nightmare, that her first ever sexting attempt had been read by her father. 

“I apologise to you, Miss Beale,” Beca’s father said, looking guilty. “I, er, had no intention of ever reading any texts aloud you understand, it’s just a scare tactic, but I must admit that I saw, unintentionally of course, something that I shouldn’t have, so I can’t pretend that I didn’t – Beca, come on, don’t lie to me here. Don’t push me away. You clearly have a situation with Miss Beale if the heart in her phone next to your name is anything to go by.”

Chloe caught Beca’s eyes for a moment and saw her gaze soften when the little heart was mentioned, and clearly her dad noticed too because he started smiling a little at the both of them. Awkwardly, it must be said, but a smile of encouragement nevertheless. 

“I …” Beca took a deep breath, automatically taking a step closer to Chloe without realising it (Chloe, though her arousal had been eradicated possibly forever by these turn of events, swooned at the gesture). “Me and Miss Beale are dating,” she revealed, half-sarcastically and half-mortified. It was a defence mechanism and her dad knew it, accepted it, and grinned at his daughter regardless because in his eyes this must have seemed like progress. He would still need the bleach, though. He still looked a tad traumatised. 

There was an awkward pause until Chloe, recovering from the situation like she was prone to do, stated, “I’m sorry for texting in your lecture, Professor Mitchell.”

He turned to her sheepishly. “I hear good things about you from my colleague Professor Matthews so I’m aware this is a one time situation. It’s unfortunate that we had to be introduced under these circumstances, but it’s a pleasure to meet you nevertheless.”

Beaming, Chloe accepted his handshake, fully believing that they were getting along swimmingly after all. He’d not strangled her for violating his daughter, so it was a good sign. 

Beca clapped her hands together and started to walk backwards up the stairs. “Well as much fun as this has been, I don’t think I’ll be able to talk to either of you ever again, so …”

Chloe laughed, rolling her eyes fondly. There were worst things in life than meeting your future father in law (because come on, how could she ever let Beca go after this?) under such strange and awkward circumstances. It would be a funny story one day. It wasn’t like he’d seen what they were referring to anyway. That would have been way worse, so silver linings and all that. “You clearly came here to talk to your dad, so I’ll leave and let you two get on with it.” She shouldered her bag, nodded guiltily to Beca’s father – because, honestly, those texts would traumatise anyone – and grabbed Beca’s arm on the way past, yanking them together and kissing her square on the mouth, eyes twinkling as she pulled away and promised to call her later. 

It was safe to say she’d won the game spectacularly. 

Beca all but squeaked in surprise at her blatant PDA, and her dad snickered in the background. He seemed incredibly chill about it all – cool even, considering he knew things about hers and Beca’s relationship that Aubrey didn’t even know (and Chloe unashamedly shared a lot of stuff whether Aubrey liked it and not – she didn’t). Beca had described him all wrong, but then again she was holding a vendetta against him. 

Before she left the room, she heard him say:

“Total score on the attractive girlfriend, Becs. Though I never thought your sexual activities would ever reach me in such great detail, it’s nice to know you’re enjoying yourself-”

Chloe totally wished her dad was that mellow. Beca would have a shotgun in her face by now if her dad had read those texts. Beca, of course, didn’t see life that way, judging by her reply of, “Kill me now.”

Chloe shook her head, happy that they were spending time together, and checked her phone as she walked outside, finding a message there that she hadn’t been able to read but Beca’s dad clearly had. What she read made her fall in love all over again. 

I know what you’re doing, Beale. I’ll let you win this one but only because I know we’ll both win later so who am I to complain? Pay attention now, nerd. I’m going to talk to my dad because of your stupid interfering ass telling me to ‘make amends’ – ew! but I know you’re right. Dinner on me later.

Then, a minute later: 

I love you.


End file.
